The New Assistant
by LizPrince
Summary: When Trina Moore shows up at the surgery for an antidepressant, the last thing she expects is to be given the chance to work with Sherlock Holmes. Post-Reichenbach. John/OC. M rating may be overkill, but I want to be careful.
1. Chapter 1

_I own nothing but my original characters (Trina, Jake, and Jake's friends) and the general plot. Everything else belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. The basic outline of the case in chapter two comes from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's _The Sign of Four_._

_New author's note: Thanks to those who have taken the trouble to read this story. This is my first fanfiction. I see from stats that a lot of people read just the first and last chapters, and while that may be a typical pattern, to me it says, "Improve those two chapters to keep readers!" So I'm tightening up the first chapter and will try to work on the last chapter soon, too._

_#####_

"I understand that you're here because you want me to prescribe an antidepressant. Is that correct?"

I glanced up at him. His look was piercing – as if he were studying me. I hadn't seen him before, but I was in a hurry to get on medication, so it didn't matter to me who I saw.

I looked back down. I couldn't look at him comfortably and admit that I needed something for depression. "Yes," I said, my voice trembling a little.

"I'm sorry to pry, but I can't just give you a prescription without understanding a little more. Why do you think you need an antidepressant?"

I knew I was going to have to go into this. "My husband hasn't been home in several days," I said. I choked back the tears, wishing I could control myself a little better. "I'm pretty certain he's left me."

"Wait a minute," he said, gently touching my right arm, so I looked him in the face. "Why do you think he left you? Have you reported his disappearance to the authorities? Could there be any other explanation?"

I was surprised he asked and a little annoyed as well. I didn't want to spell out how just bad my marriage was. "No, it was intentional. I'm sure," I said. "He took a lot of his clothes, his toothbrush, things like that. Our marriage… it hasn't been..." I trailed off, looking back down at my lap and twisting my hands. _Just write the prescription,_ I thought. _Write it and let me leave._

But he wouldn't let up. The sign of a good doctor, I supposed, but I hated all of his questions. "Have you been seeing anyone about your marriage? A couple's counsellor or an individual therapist?"

"No," I said. He was silent, so I decided to just get it over with and tell him everything. "Things were fine until a couple of years ago. We had a baby, Samuel, but he died when he was five weeks old. Cot death. We had tried for so long, and then we lost him," I pressed my lips together, willing myself not to cry anymore. "My husband started going to the pub - alone - every night. He'd never done that before; we only went occasionally together with our friends. At first I was too depressed over Samuel's death to care much. It hurt me that he hardly spoke to me and left me alone so much, but I thought that was his way of mourning. I guess it was, but when I finally felt up to asking if I could join him, he told me to leave him alone. He told me that I was too moody and that I was getting on his nerves. He also said I was too clingy." A tear fell on my lap. _Get ahold of yourself, Trina! _

"Has he abused you?" he asked.

I hadn't expected this question, though I should have. I looked him in the eyes. I wanted him to know I was telling the truth. Because I loved my husband. I wouldn't be so upset about all this if I didn't love my husband... and even if I didn't, I wouldn't feel comfortable letting anyone think things about him that simply weren't true. "No," I said. "He's been cold and sometimes angry at me, but not abusive."

He nodded slightly. "So this has been going on for a couple of years. And you didn't get help sooner, because… ." He left me to fill in the blank.

"Because I thought it was normal for us to mourn our son's death, so why should I get help? I was sure things would go back to normal eventually. And they just… didn't. But it wasn't until he left me that I realized I needed help."

He frowned. "I can prescribe an antidepressant, and it will probably help you cope with this, but you really need psychotherapy as well. I'd like to refer you to a counsellor through our surgery. There's a bit of a wait time, but since your assessment says you're not suicidal, I don't think it will hurt you to wait another month or so."

I nodded. _Now I can just get my prescription and go?_

"Have you ever been on an antidepressant before?" he asked.

"No."

"Right. You've probably heard of SSRIs, selective serotin reuptake inhibitors. They tend to work well, so we'll start with one of those. You'll need to come back so we can evaluate its effectiveness and whether or not you're experiencing any side effects."

I was more than ready to finish our visit, but instead of dismissing me with the prescription and information about when to come back, he looked me in the eyes.

"Since it will be a while before you can see our counsellor, I'm going to give you an additional prescription. Some lifestyle changes, really. How are you doing on sleep?"

"I know I don't get enough," I said. "I often stay up late, but I always wake around 7, no matter how late I get to bed."

"And how are you eating? Enough? Too much? Are you eating the right foods?"

"I tend to run on caffeine and sugar, and I'm often too tired to cook much in the evenings," I confessed.

"Exercise?"

"I run almost every day," I said with pride. Something I was doing right. He flashed me a smile.

"Well, that's something. A success. And it probably does you good." He continued, "How about time with supportive friends, or family members who support you? You mentioned the friends you and your husband used to share, before you lost your son."

I chewed on my lip. "I'm not really close to my family, and I don't see them much," I said. "And my friends... well, after Samuel died, I stopped going out with them. We'd always done things with our friends as a couple; I didn't hang out with girlfriends on my own much. I suppose I should have, but my husband and I were so close, before our son's death. I never felt the need for much girl time. Then all of a sudden, it was just me, and I felt odd, seeing our friends alone, without him. I'd make excuses when they called, and after a while, they stopped calling." My voice cracked a little as I thought about how easy it was for me to lose my friends, how none of them put a lot into pursuing me when I started avoiding them.

"I've been there," he said. "The loneliness, I mean." I was surprised. He didn't seem like the type of person to be friendless and alone. He looked at my chart and continued. "It says on your chart that you're a freelance writer?"

"Yes. I usually keep pretty busy writing and editing, though the work isn't that interesting. It's helped pay the bills, and it's better than any job I could find working for someone else." I tried not to think about how I was going to pay the bills alone.

"Trina Moore," he said, looking at my chart. "Are you the Trina Moore I've seen published in The Guardian from time to time?"

I was flattered that he recognized my name. "Yes, actually. I don't get my work in as often as I'd like, but it's the best part of my job when I succeed. Mostly I do corporate work – brochures and advertisements."

"What about fun? What do you do for fun?"

"I read or watch television. I know I should do more. Lately I've even wished there was a little more adventure in my life; it's become so narrow. But, since things went wrong with my husband… maybe it is because I'm depressed, but I have a hard time leaving the house unless I have to. It's so much easier to just stay at home."

"Adventure, hmmm?" He mused, and made some notes. Then he looked me in the eye. "Okay. Here's what I want you to do. First and foremost, do what you can to get more sleep. If you're waking around 7, you should be going to bed around 11. You'll find things will be much easier to cope with if you get some sleep. Also, you need regular, healthy meals. I know you're tired. You're short on sleep, and your depression doesn't help. But I want you to start trying to eat better. If you go out for something fast, make it a salad. Before you reach for a sweet, grab some fruit. Understood?"

I nodded. I found myself appreciating his thoroughness. I'd wanted to make this a short visit, but now I was glad he wouldn't let it go at just that. I realized it had been a long time since anyone, myself included, had bothered to look out for my welfare.

"Keep up with the exercise, of course," he continued. "And try to find ways to get out of the house and socialize. You're at home alone entirely too much. Perhaps you can reconnect with some old friends." He paused, and I reached for my handbag in preparation for my dismissal. But then he went on.

"Look, you said you want some adventure your life, so I'm going to throw out an odd suggestion to you – one you can feel free to disregard. Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes. He's a famous detective, isn't he?"

"He is. He's also my flatmate. In fact, my job here is just part-time, to keep my hand in the medical field and fill in the gaps between cases. Mostly I assist him with his cases. My job here was really necessary when he was getting started and while he was... gone for a while, but he's back and getting busier, and while I'm not ready to quit the surgery, I'm having a hard time keeping up with everything. I've been blogging about his cases. At first it was my own form of therapy, but lately it's been, well, for Sherlock. He's not really good at self-promotion, at least not in a positive manner, so I've taken that on myself. I'd be glad to pass it on to someone else. If you could take that, we'd pay you, so it would be instead of, not on top of, the freelance work you've been doing, and it might give you something exciting to do, something that would get you out of the house. You'd need to come along on cases as you were able, so you'd be exposed to some pretty brutal stuff, but I found the work... well, I'm a soldier, of course, but there was a time when I was alone and depressed, much like you, and working with Sherlock changed all that for me. I think it might be good for you, as well. You need to know, though, that Sherlock can be pretty... rude. And there will be an element of danger, though if I feel a case will be too dangerous at the outset, I won't ask you to join us. We'll also have to work this around your need for sleep – Sherlock works all hours when he's on a case – but I don't think you need to be with us all the time. Just enough to get a taste of Sherlock's work, so you can write about it. I could fill you in on whatever you miss. What do you say, Mrs Moore?"

For a second, I sat with my mouth practically gaping. This wasn't what I'd expected at all, but I found it exciting. To follow the famous Sherlock Holmes! There was a writing assignment I could relish far more than the brochures I cranked out for industrial and commercial products.

"Trina, please," I said, finding my voice. "Mrs Moore sounds so... old."

"Well then, Trina?" Doctor Watson cocked his head slightly and looked at me, a faint smile on his lips.

Of course, I said "yes."


	2. Chapter 2

I got my first call for a case that very evening, while I was eating an early dinner – a peanut butter sandwich. Not really what the doctor had ordered, but it was easy and comforting, and it seemed too much trouble to fix a real dinner just for myself.

I almost let the call roll over to voicemail since the number was unlisted, but I decided to pick up, just in case it was Doctor Watson. Sure enough his voice answered my greeting.

"Trina? John Watson. Would you be able to take a case tonight? I don't know what your workload is like..."

"Actually, it's pretty light right now. I can easily manage something else. What would you like me to do?"

"Sherlock's got a case that looks interesting. A woman came to us, because her father went missing nearly 10 years ago, and more recently, she has been receiving one pearl a year. This year's pearl came with a request for her to meet the mysterious sender. He, or she, claims to have information about her father. We're supposed to go with her to meet this person tonight. Could you hurry over to 221B Baker Street so that I can go over some things with you before we leave?"

"Of course," I said. "I'll be on my way in a moment."

"Oh, and Trina," he said. "Sherlock knows you're going to help out, but I just wanted to remind you not to take anything he says personally."

"I won't," I promised. I threw the rest of my sandwich in the trash; I was too excited about my first case to finish eating. As I drove to Baker Street, I wished I had paid more attention to the gossip surrounding Sherlock Holmes. I knew his name, of course, and I even knew Doctor John Watson's name, though I hadn't imagined that that was the same Doctor Watson I was seeing for an antidepressant – I hadn't even thought about him having a practice, and I guess I'd never seen a picture of him. I had seen a picture of Sherlock, though. And that was almost all I knew about the famous detective. I'd had other things that interested me far more than following another celebrity.

A woman answered the door. "Oh, hello! You must be Trina. I'm Mrs Hudson, the landlady," she said.

"They've been expecting you. Right this way, dear." She led me up a flight of stairs to a flat and knocked on the door. "John!" she called out. "Trina's here."

He opened the door. "You got here quickly," he remarked.

"I was very interested in the case, Doctor Watson," I said, as I stepped into the strangest room I'd ever seen. There was a skull on the mantelpiece, what appeared to bullet holes in the wall, and a litter of papers, weapons, trash, dirty dishes, and goodness know what else all over.

"John, please," he said. "If we're going to work together, you must call me John. Sorry about the mess. We've been rather hard at it, so I've had no time to pick up, and Sherlock _won't_ pick up."

He glared in the direction of the tall, slender man I'd seen in pictures. He was glued to a television news cast and didn't even glance in our direction. "Sherlock, Trina's here," John said.

"Why do we need her again?" he responded, still not looking at us.

"She's taking over the blog," John said with a sigh.

"We don't _need_ the blog, John. I keep telling you that. I have my website, and that's enough. If your blog is too much for you, just drop it."

"We _do_ need the blog," John insisted. "Nobody reads your website. I've read Trina's writing, and she'll do an excellent job."

"She'll just be in the way," snarled Sherlock, finally looking at us with a glare. "I need _useful _people around me. People like you, John," he added, almost as if he were placating him. But he quickly resumed his belligerent tone, as he directed his gaze at me. "You should have finished your peanut butter sandwich rather than racing over here to follow a case with me. I don't want you."

I took a step back. How on earth...? John put a hand behind my back, and sputtered furiously at Sherlock. "_What_ did I tell you...?" Oh, no. Had they discussed me? What had John said? That I was a poor pathetic wreck who couldn't take Sherlock's vitriol? Though, really, I wasn't sure I could, despite John's warnings. Still, I wanted to stay. I'd been so excited about this job.

"I can be useful," I said with a squeak. "I can run errands for you, fetch meals..."

He interrupted me. "I don't eat while I'm on a case."

"But _I_ do," John replied. "Trina, that would be wonderful, though your writing skills will be enough," and he glared at Sherlock as he said that last part, then turned back to me. "Come with me. I'll show you how to log into the blog someplace where we won't disturb Sherlock." He picked up a laptop and tucked it under one arm, while with the other he steered me by the elbow toward the door, relaxing his hold only long enough to open it, and then holding on to me again to steer up the stairs to a bedroom – apparently his bedroom. It was neat, with just a bed, a dresser, and a chair. He gestured for me to sit in the chair, and then he knelt down beside me and opened up the laptop. He paused and looked at me.

"I'm really sorry about Sherlock," he said. "I _did_ warn you."

"It's fine," I mumbled. His physical proximity was making me a bit disconcerted. He was a touchy person. My husband had been like that early in our relationship, but in more recent years, he had become more distant. I was starving for affection and responded far too easily to touch, even when nothing was meant by it. I realized that I could easily fall for this kind, good-looking doctor. I would have to be careful, to guard my heart.

He interrupted my thoughts. "A peanut butter sandwich? That's not really what I had in mind when I recommended healthy eating. And, really… peanut butter?" He made a face.

I smiled. "I _like_ it," I said. "I developed a taste for it when I studied in America for a year."

He shook his head, looking bewildered by my fondness for peanut butter. "And you didn't finish it," he said, becoming more serious. "Are you hungry?" I realized then that he took it completely for granted that Sherlock was right about the peanut butter sandwich. What else did this detective know about me, just from a glance? And what had John told him?

"I'm too excited to be hungry," I said.

"I'll let it go this time," he said with a slight smile, "but I do want to know that you're eating better. You won't be able to keep up on partially eaten sandwiches."

I nodded, feeling cheerier than I had in quite a while. I'd been isolating myself from others for far too long. The slight attraction I had for John aside, I found our social interaction refreshing.

"Okay, let's get down to business," he said, and showed me how to log in.

Less than 15 minutes later, Sherlock knocked on the door, saying, "It's time to go." When we opened it, he looked at me and unapologetically asked, "May we use your car?" So we did – all three of us going to meet Sherlock's client. John insisted on sitting up front with me, probably, I thought, to protect me as much as he could from Sherlock.

###

The case started out straightforward enough, and I was beginning to think it was going to be boring, but then the mysterious benefactor took us to his brother's home, where we found the brother dead in a locked room. Sherlock leapt into action with John at his side. I took notes furiously and breathed in the excitement. I felt like I was really living for the first time since Samuel died. By the time the police arrived, we were surprised to find it was nearly midnight. Well, John and I were surprised; Sherlock probably had known all along but did not, of course, say anything, though John had promised to get me home as close to 11 as possible. He wanted me to stick to that bedtime! John looked at me apologetically, and then turned to Sherlock. "Well, with the police here, there's nothing more we can do right now, so let's go."

"They'll be out of here within the hour," Sherlock replied. "Let's stay."

"You may not be human, Sherlock," John said. "But Trina and I are. I'll have Trina drop me off at home. You can take a cab when you're ready." And he took hold of my arm, turned around and walked out the door. Outside, he let go of my arm and looked at me with a smile. "I scolded you about your dinner, but I actually forgot to eat at all. Are you hungry?"

"No," I lied. I just wanted to go home and process everything that had been happening.

"Really? You've had hardly anything this evening. You can't go on like that."

"No, really," I said, but my stomach took that opportunity to growl.

He raised one eyebrow. "Okay, let's go," he said, and directed me to a nearby Chinese restaurant that was open all night. When he offered to pay, I objected, but he replied, "I'll take your share out of your pay, alright?" with a grin.

"I know I'm keeping you up late, and I'm sorry," he said over dinner. "But you need to eat, and I was pretty famished myself. I can give you a pill to help you sleep if you like."

"No, I'll be fine," I said.

"Really?" he asked. Of course he didn't believe me after my previous lie.

"I really don't want the pill," I said, and he left it at that.

"Well, then, I'll call you at a reasonable time tomorrow. I know you have trouble sleeping in, but at least don't set an alarm," he said, and then we talked about the case. He was interested in hearing my opinion of Sherlock and the direction the case was taking. I told him that Sherlock was brilliant, and John almost seemed to take as much pride in that as if I had praised him instead of his flatmate, but I also mentioned that I really didn't like him.

"Few people do, at least until they get to know him better," he said. "And even then, many don't. But I think you'll find his brilliance, his dedication and, well, the fact that he is on the right side, that he uses his genius to track down criminals, more than make up for his astonishing lack of social skills."

"I can tell that you're a true friend," I said.

"I am." We both lapsed into silence for a while. After dinner, I dropped him off in front of his flat and then drove home.

###

At 3, I woke to hear someone stumbling around downstairs. My heart stopped for just a second, but I thought that if someone had broken in, I would have heard that first, and after a decade of marriage, I felt reasonably comfortable that the footsteps belonged to my husband.

I picked up the nearest weapon I could find – a high-heel shoe that I rarely wore. In a pinch, I might be able to use it to do some damage with a well-aimed blow. I crept to the top of the stairs and worked up my nerve to call out. "Jake?"

"H'lo," he slurred and came into view. "I'm back. She didn't work out."

I was sickened by his bold declaration, but I said nothing. I merely turned around and returned to our bedroom, depositing the shoe in the closet on my way back to bed. He lay down next to me a minute later, reeking of alcohol. I listened to his breathing grow slow and even, and then into a snore. Oh, no. Not that. I poked him, but he kept snoring. At 5 I gave up, went into the kitchen, and powered up my laptop. I took out my notes and began drafting the first part of the posting that I would eventually put up on the blog, summarizing the case so far. I ate some breakfast and then went for a run. I had just arrived home again at 7:30 and was about to take a shower when my phone rang.

"I took a chance that you were up now," John said. "Can you come join us at the scene of the crime?"

"Let me take a quick shower, and I'll be right there," I said. My heart began racing as I anticipated another exciting day, watching Sherlock at work and, well, being in John's presence. _Not good,_ I told myself. _Not good at all. Your husband just came back to you, and you're eager to see another man?_ But I put on a little makeup for a change before going out.

###

"How did you sleep?" John asked me the moment I arrived. I knew that, despite my makeup, it was evident I'd been awake for much of the night.

"Not well," I confessed.

"I could have told you that," said Sherlock to John. "She's wearing makeup today, too. You weren't yesterday," he said, looking at me with an accusing expression.

I swore mentally.

John ignored him. "Look, I could put you on a different antidepressant. The insomnia could be a side effect."

"It wasn't that," Sherlock and I said simultaneously. I gaped at him in amazement.

"Her husband came back last night, and then she couldn't sleep," Sherlock said triumphantly. I looked for a chair so that I could sit down, but there was none handy.

"If you'd observe…," Sherlock began by way of explanation.

"ENOUGH!" snapped John, and then he turned to me. "Did he really come home last night?"

I was surprised that he was actually questioning Sherlock's take on the situation. "Of course, Sherlock's right," I murmured, and Sherlock shot a look of triumph in our direction, though he didn't try anymore to explain how he knew this.

"And this is a good thing, right?" John asked.

"I don't know," I replied. I was grateful when Sherlock insisted we get down to business. If Sherlock could deduce so much about me from who knows what subtle clues, what else did he know about me? Or had I been clueless to the fact that many of my secrets – my misery, my horrid marriage – were plainly written on my face? I welcomed the distraction of work as John filled me in on the latest developments. Sherlock had borrowed a bloodhound from someone and was keen to track down the killer. The mysterious benefactor was in prison, having been wrongly accused of the crime, and Sherlock was eager to expose the right man, not, I suspected, so much to free an innocent man as to prove that he was right and the police were wrong.

###

Sherlock had the case wrapped up by twilight that evening. I was stunned and exhausted, and incredibly happy. _This_ was what I should have been doing all along – a reporter, so to speak, embedded with a pair of investigators. I was eager to get back to finish the blog entry and post it, so once I had everything I needed, I left John and Sherlock and returned home to write. My husband was there.

"Where have _you_ been?" he asked me.

"Researching a writing project." My response was sharp, and I hated myself for it. I was not doing our marriage any favors.

"You don't normally go out all day to do something like that," he mused.

"I've got a new client," I said. "A detective." For some reason, I didn't want to give Jake his name. "I'm following his cases and blogging about them. It gives him a little PR."

"That's interesting," he said, but his tone was bland, and he wandered to another part of the house. Normally I'd have been hurt, but I was too interested in my work to care.


	3. Chapter 3

John gave me a quick call the next day to tell me that he liked my blog posting, and then there were four days of silence. I was disappointed to have to go back to my regular life. I'd enjoyed the excitement, the distraction... and being with John. _So it's good that I'm not hearing from him, _I thought._ I don't need another thing to make my marriage more difficult._ But I wanted it. Oh, how I wanted it. Especially since, while I had my husband back, it felt like he was as far from me as he had been after he moved out.

So I was happy to get a phone call from John one morning, promising me a new and interesting case. I practically flew to 221B Baker Street, and I was smiling when John opened the door to the flat.

"You look well!" he exclaimed. "How are you sleeping? How are you eating? How are you tolerating the antidepressant?"

"Fine, fine, and fine," I said with a smile.

Sherlock looked at me, and I felt myself blush. _He knows,_ I thought. _He knows everything._ John, thankfully, didn't notice but went on questioning me, this time lowering his voice, though I knew Sherlock was privy to this information. "How is it going with your husband? Any improvement with your relationship since he moved back in?"

"No," I said, hanging my head a bit, both because I felt deflated by the question and to hide the remains of my blush from John.

"Well, perhaps in time," he responded, and began to fill me in on the case.

###

It wasn't too long before I was confirmed right. John only had to leave the room for a minute, and Sherlock was on me.

"You're falling in love," he accused me. "You know he's not in love with you. You know this isn't good for your marriage. Why don't you do the right thing and quit your job with us?"

I glared at him, but I didn't answer, and John came back before Sherlock could bother me some more. I knew he was right; I shouldn't keep this up, but I had to. I just didn't think I could survive going back home to my old, dull existence.

###

The case was solved in no time, and I was free to return home before six o'clock. As I drove home, I decided I had to do something, something that would allow me to keep going on with this work but would free my heart from John. I reflected on the possibilities. What I really needed was to recapture the romance in my marriage. I was a little disgusted by the idea of making love to Jake after he'd recently been living with another woman, but he'd come back to me after all, and if I wanted to improve our marriage, I'd have to be willing to put that behind me. Right now we were just two people living inside the same house, sharing the same bed, but barely interacting with each other. I stopped at a shop and purchased a lacy bra and matching panties, a low-cut blouse and a bottle of perfume. I was pleased, for a change, but not surprised to find that my husband wasn't home when I arrived. No doubt he was at the pub. I showered, changed, brushed my teeth, and freshened up my makeup. I was happy to find that I was overcoming my disgust and beginning to think of my husband with the anticipation of pleasure. Yes, this was definitely what I needed. I was only attracted to John because I was so starved for affection. I'd turn to my husband for that, find ways to gently return our marriage to its former passion, and my feelings for John would fade. We could be simply coworkers, like I was with Sherlock. Well, not like I was with Sherlock. Sherlock made me bristle, and even if I weren't falling for John, he'd never annoy me the way Sherlock did.

Once I was ready, I called my husband. When he answered, I could hear the familiar sounds of people enjoying themselves over a pint (or two, or more) in the background.

"What do you want, Trina?"

Not a promising beginning. I screwed up my nerve anyway. "Jake, I've been thinking of you and feeling… so... hot. Come and get me," I said, my heart beating wildly. What was I doing? I'd never spoken to him like this even when we were happy in our marriage!

"Trina, you shouldn't just surprise me like this. You should have given me some warning. I can't get away just now," he said and hung up. I went into the bathroom, sure I was going to vomit, but nothing happened. Trembling, I got ready for bed and lay down, even though it was quite early and I hadn't had dinner. He'd rejected me! I'd tried so hard, and he'd rejected me with a lame excuse.

###

He didn't come home that night. I shouldn't have been surprised; he was probably punishing me in his passive-aggressive way for my bold behavior. I lay in bed, sleepless, waiting to hear his footsteps. At some point after midnight, I got up and worked for a while. Then I lay down on the sofa, still hoping that Jake would stumble in, and finally fell asleep. I woke at dawn with a crick in my neck. At 7:30, John called. 7:30 seemed to be his polite "she must be up by now" time.

"Trina," he said. "You posted your blog entry at 1:30 a.m. Why weren't you sleeping?"

Though I'd been crying my eyes out, I found myself smiling at his gentle scolding. "Sorry, John. I couldn't sleep. It seemed like a good use of my time."

"Are you all right, Trina? Your voice sounds funny."

"I'm fine," I said. Why did I find myself lying to John so frequently? I hurried on. "Did you just call me about the timing of the blog, or was there another reason?" I wanted to get him off the phone quickly now.

"Actually, we've got another case already. Are you up for one so soon? Especially after a bad night?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Just let me pull myself together." When we had hung up, I washed my face, straightened my hair, and tried to hide the damage of a night spent mostly in weeping wakefulness. I doubted I could hide anything from Sherlock, but if he would just keep his mouth shut, I thought I could fool John.

###

No such luck. I had no sooner entered the flat when Sherlock looked up from his desk and said, "So, your husband rejected you." I was stunned – for just a second – that even he would say something so audacious, and then I turned on my heel and headed back out the door. "Ask me how I know," he demanded. "ASK ME HOW I KNOW!" But I just closed the door behind me, and then burst into tears. I could hear John yelling at Sherlock, though I couldn't make out what he was saying. I needed to get out of there, but I wasn't in any shape to drive. I had to pull myself together. Before I could do that, John was out in the hall with me.

"Trina, _what _is going on?"

I had to tell him the truth. I couldn't very well lie after what Sherlock had said; I couldn't even think of a lie that could cover it. "I tried to seduce my husband last night," I said. "Sherlock's right. He rejected me."

John tried to hide a smile, unsuccessfully. "You tried to _seduce_ your own husband?"

"It's been a long time, John. Months actually."

"Really? And he _rejected_ you?"

He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he said it. I started crying again.

"Trina, I'm so sorry. I'm as bad as Sherlock. I didn't mean to be cruel, though. I just don't see how... Well, alcohol does depress the libido. I was just a little taken aback, that's all."

"Really?" I sniffed. "It isn't me? After I knew there was another woman…"

"_What?"_

"I suspected there might be someone else when he left me, but when he came back, he mentioned that she didn't work out, so then I knew."

"You mean he just casually came back because the other woman didn't work out? Did he apologize to you? You didn't just take him back without an apology on his part, did you?"

I was silent. What could I say? In John's eyes I was a pushover. I supposed I really _was_ a pushover. But I wanted to fix my marriage, so of course I took Jake back.

"Oh, Trina," John sighed, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to say more, seemed to second-guess himself, and then asked. "Are you really up for a case right now?"

"Yes," I sniffed. "I need this."

"Okay, I believe you. Let's go back in the flat, and I'll fill you in on the details so far. Sherlock won't bother you anymore. I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

We worked hard enough that morning that I momentarily forgot my troubled marriage. At noon, John announced to Sherlock, "I'm taking Trina to lunch."

"Don't we already spend enough on her?" Sherlock replied. "Let her be useful like she said she'd be. She can bring lunch back for us."

"No, Sherlock. Today I'm taking her out to lunch."

Sherlock shrugged, and we left. I hardly struggled against my feelings. What did it matter? My husband didn't love me anyway. But I knew John didn't love me either. He was just being friendly.

While we waited for lunch he chatted lightly with me about the case, but after the food arrived, he became serious. "Trina, I'm sorry. I know we've only known each other for about a week. But our work together has been intense, and I already feel that you are my friend, so as a friend, I'm going to ask you a difficult question." He paused, while I inwardly thrilled at the word "friend" and wished I was even more to him. "_Why_ are you doing this to yourself?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. _Why was I going on cases, after he himself had recommended it? Why was I falling for him? Did he know? Why was I letting my husband hurt me?_ I hit the nail on the head with my last guess.

"Trina, while your husband may not be abusing you, he _is_ treating you brutally. He had an affair and came back to you without an apology, simply because the affair didn't work out. Why are you staying with him? You deserve better than this."

It was becoming difficult to eat my lunch. He was no Sherlock, but his timing was terribly off. "John, it is bad right now, but there was a time, before Samuel died, when it was very, very good. I love my husband, and I want him back. I want to fix our marriage, not throw it out."

"I respect you for wanting to save your marriage, but you seem to be the only one putting any effort into it. At what point do you decide it's a lost cause? At what point will you _at least_ demand that he treat you with some respect?"

How could I explain this to him? He wasn't going to understand. I didn't completely understand myself.

"I'm afraid that if I push back, I'll lose him. He'll just walk out again. But maybe, if I can only remind him of what we had, maybe I can fix things."

"Look, I don't mean to hurt you when I say this, but it seems to me that you've already lost him. He may be living in the same house with you, but he isn't behaving in any way like he's your husband. There are certain things you should be able to expect from the man who promised to spend the rest of his life with you, like faithfulness and enough trust that you can speak to him about your marriage without having to fear that he'll walk out… again. If you think this marriage is worth saving, then fine, but at least promise me you'll speak to him about the way he's treating you." He was silent for a moment, watching me push my salad around the plate. "I'm sorry," he added. "I've spoiled your lunch. Sherlock must be affecting my social skills."

I managed a weak smile. "I ate a little," I said. "I can save the rest and eat it later when I get hungry again."

"Sounds like a plan," said John. "I've got leftovers, too. Guess I didn't spoil just your appetite." We asked for boxes, he paid, and then we stashed the boxes in the fridge at 221B, beneath the severed head, which I almost took completely in stride. Almost.

And then it was back to work.

###

When I went home that night at 9 – doctor's orders – the case was complete, and my husband wasn't home. I knew I was supposed to go to bed. That was what John expected. But I couldn't sleep. I needed to see my husband, to know that, even with the previous night's rejection, he still had some shred of love left for me, something I could build on. So I sat up, and once again, I fell asleep on the sofa. At 1, he came home, waking me as he snapped on the light.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Waiting for you," I said, gathering up my courage. "I wanted to talk with you."

"About _what_?" His voice was tense with the anger I felt simmering within him almost every time we talked. For the first time, I thought to ask myself why he was so angry at me. Did he blame me for Samuel's death, or for bringing Samuel into the world in the first place? Why had he rejected me so suddenly after Samuel died?

My heart hammered. Could he tell how frightened I was? I took a deep breath. "Jake, I don't like how you've been treating me. I don't know what's going on, but ever since Samuel died, you've been cold toward me, and your recent affair was the last straw!" I was surprised to find that I was angry with him, that I was actually yelling now. My hands were clenched into fists. Everything I'd been bottling up, every hurt I'd swallowed for the sake of our marriage, came bubbling to the surface. Now I was more frightened of myself then I was of Jake. "How dare you just waltz back into my life with no apology whatsoever? I'm your _wife_, Jake. I deserve better than what I've been getting."

For just a second, Jake looked surprised to hear me stand up for myself in this way, but when he spoke, he returned my anger with his own. "Trina," he said, "I don't love you anymore. I haven't loved you for a long time. I've tried – God knows I've tried – but I just can't stand to be around you."

He stood there for several seconds, waiting for my reply, I suppose, but I felt drained. I had nothing more to say. So he turned around and left.

###

I stayed on the couch, sleepless, for hours. Then I fumbled through the motions of my morning routine and made my way to 221B Baker Street without waiting for John to call. He and Sherlock were up, as I expected, and he looked at me in surprise when I arrived. He might not have Sherlock's power of observation, but he knew immediately that I had not slept well. "Alright, Trina, you're going back to bed right now," he said. "I'll fill you in on the case later."

"Isn't that supposed to be bad for me, sleeping during the day?"

"Normally, yes, but you're in no condition to be working or, for that matter, driving. You're coming up to my room, and I'm going to give you something so that you'll get some significant rest. Then I'm taking you home tonight and dosing you up again." His mouth was set; his voice businesslike. He was all doctor now.

"You're not pregnant, are you?" he asked as we headed up the stairs.

"No, I'm definitely not."

"Good. Are you taking anything else besides your antidepressant right now?"

"No."

"Also good. Go ahead and lie down. I'll be back in a moment."

He returned with a tablet and a glass of water. "This should do the trick," he said. "I'll check on you in short while, to make sure this is working and that there are no side effects. I'll ask Mrs Hudson to check on you from time to time while we're out." I took the pill wordlessly; I was too tired to fight over whether or not I needed medication. Sleep overtook me quickly.

###

When I awoke, the flat was quiet. I was still groggy, but I wondered if I should go back home; it felt odd to be in John's bed. He'd placed a blanket over me; I warmed at the thought. My husband was so cold, and John was so caring. How could I not fall for him? I recalled that he had said he would take me home and dose me up again. Best to wait patiently for him and Sherlock to return. But when would that be? I was hungry. I looked at my watch. It was nearly four o'clock. I'd slept through lunch – no wonder I was hungry! I went downstairs and poked around in Sherlock's refrigerator. Mrs Hudson heard me moving around and poked her head in.

"John told me to watch out for you, dear. He says you are not to go home, but just wait for him to come get you. He's such a nice man, isn't he? Can I get you some tea and a sandwich?"

"Oh, thank you, Mrs Hudson. You read my mind," I said.

"Sit down then, and I'll bring it to you in a minute."

I selected a chair and idly leafed through papers nearby. Nothing of interest. Sherlock kept no novels; he had no use for them. What would I do to distract myself while I waited for John?

Mrs Hudson brought the tea, and I felt better after eating. I wandered back up to John's room. I noticed a book on his dresser and picked it up. Poetry. Oh, I liked that man. I sat on the chair – the bed felt too awkward, though the chair was not very comfortable – and lost myself in the words and rhythms of the poems. At 8:30, I heard footsteps, and John poked his head in the door.

"I've left Sherlock at the laboratory," he said. "I've come to take you home. How are you?"

"Much better," I said.

"Well, I want you to get another good sleep under your belt before you get back to work. Sherlock's almost finished with this case, but we already have another lined up, so there will be things for you to do tomorrow. Do you need something to eat?"

"Mrs Hudson gave me tea at four, but I am feeling a little hungry again."

"Then we'll stop for a quick bite on the way home, and then it's off to bed for you." We walked to the car, and he said, "Now, tell me why you were sleepless last night."

I felt a chill come over me, and I shivered. John reached out his hand and took hold of mine, to stop me from walking further. He looked me in the eye and waited.

"I had it out with my husband last night, like you suggested," I said. _Come on, Trina. Did you need to say that? Are you trying to make John feel guilty?_ It was too late for me to take that back, so I continued. "It didn't go well. He told me he didn't love me, and then he left." I started to cry.

I wanted him to take me in his arms, and let me cry on his shoulder, but he just said, "Trina, I'm so sorry," and stood by awkwardly while I cried it out. After I stopped, he put one arm around me. "I'm so, so sorry," he repeated. I nodded, sniffling. He took the car keys out of my hand, opened the passenger door for me and took the driver's seat himself. I sat in the car as he drove, mulling over my conflicting feelings. I was totally obsessed with both John and the desire to see my husband again, to have him say that he was sorry and that he really did love me. How could my heart be split in two like this? I said very little during dinner, and John was content to leave me to my thoughts. He seemed to know that I was emotionally exhausted and needed space.

When we got to my house, it was dark. John pressed his lips together. "Any chance he came home and went to bed early?" he asked.

"It's doubtful," I admitted.

"Look," said John in a hushed voice. "If he is there, I shouldn't just walk into your room. Why not check for him? If he's there, I can dose you up outside the door, and then I want you to pop directly into bed. If he isn't there, I can give you the pill to take while you're in bed. I don't think I need to stick around, since you didn't experience any side effects with the first dose."

I nodded, went up to my bedroom, and quietly opened the door. I let my eyes adjust to the dark. The bed was made up neatly. Of course, he wasn't there. I started crying all over again, and John was at my side in a flash.

"Calm down," he said. "Trina, it's going to be alright. You'll feel much better when you've slept some more. I promise."

I nodded dully, and sat down on my bed, fully clothed. John went off to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. I took the pill he provided and lay down, feeling my eyes grow heavy almost immediately. The last thing I heard was John walking away and pausing at the door. "Good night," he said. And I was out.


	5. Chapter 5

I awoke feeling more refreshed than I had in a long time, but my spirits sank when I remembered how my husband had left the night before last. There was no sign that he had been home since. Why hadn't he at least returned to retrieve some of his things? Had something happened to him?

I pondered the situation over breakfast. I worried about Jake. I also found that I badly wanted a sense of closure. I wanted to what was next for our relationship, whatever was left of it. Jake had left me for a second time, and I wasn't sure if he would come back again, or if I would even let him back into my life if he did return. We'd had it out, but it left me with more questions about our future than I'd had when I was desperately clinging to our marriage, trying to make it work out through my own best efforts.

And then I had it. If he was willing to help me, Sherlock could find him. If something had happened to Jake, Sherlock would be able to help. I hurried through my morning routine and sped to 221B Baker Street. Once again, John seemed surprised that I showed up unbidden, but he smiled. "You look like you're finally caught up on sleep," he remarked.

"I am," and I smiled back. Then, "Where's Sherlock?"

"Over here!" came a shout, and I saw then that he was under his desk for some reason that was evidently important to him and completely unclear to me. I came over and knelt down next to him.

"Sherlock, I was wondering if you could help me," I began.

"I believe you are the one who is supposed to helping me," he retorted, but he stopped what he had been doing and looked at me. "Your need me to find your husband, don't you?"

How did he do that? Well, it didn't matter. "Yes. He left a couple of nights ago, and he hasn't even been back to collect his things. I need to find him and talk with him."

He nodded. "I'll take it. No charge, Trina. But... do you really think this is the right thing to do?"

It was the kindest thing Sherlock had ever said to me. I nodded. "Yes. I know what I'm doing."

"Good," he replied. "Now I'm busy at the moment, so I'll put my best man on this job. John!"

Oh, no. I thought. Somehow it felt terribly wrong to have John searching for my husband. But Sherlock pressed on. "John, have Trina take you to the pub her husband usually frequents. Start inquiries there. Someone's bound to know something." He turned back to me. "You see, Trina, this will be terribly easy. Boring, frankly. Even John will find your husband easily before the morning is out." And he went back to his strange exercise under the desk.

###

He was right. It was all too easy. I had been looking away from obvious solutions, hoping that the reason Jake hadn't come home to collect his things was because he couldn't for some reason. When I admitted the truth to myself, I knew I was hoping that, if he were abducted or hurt or needed help, he would be grateful to me for not just letting him go, and we'd still have a future together. Instead, John and I hopped into my car and drove to my husband's favorite pub.

"I don't know what to say, Trina," John said. "Why are you still trying?"

"John, it's not like that," I said, knowing that I was, in fact, holding on to some hope, but also wanting John to know that I wasn't going to let my husband treat me poorly any longer. "I need to talk to him, because I need some closure. I can't keep wondering if or when he's coming back home."

"And if he says that he might come back?"

"John, I promise, I'm not going to take him back unless he wants to put some effort into our marriage."

"I'm glad," he said, and he smiled at me.

When we arrived at the pub, I didn't recognize anyone. I had met a few of his pub friends when they had come home with him or when I'd tried to join him at the pub (only to be shrugged off with indifference). I was too shy to ask strangers about Jake, so John and I had an early lunch there, killing time. Eventually someone I recognized came in, so I screwed up my courage and asked him if he'd seen Jake lately. He hadn't.

I retreated back to the table I was sharing with John. "You know, that's the first time I've heard you say your husband's name," he mused. I was surprised to realize that he was right. It was as if I were keeping these two men I felt attracted to apart.

Jake's friend was joined by another, and before I could even get up out of my seat to approach the newcomer, his crony said something and gestured in my direction. They both walked over to me. "I know where Jake is," said the second friend. _Tom. His name is Tom,_ I remembered. "He moved in with Liz Davies the night before last."

"Can you give me her address?" I asked.

He couldn't, but her flat was nearby, and he could give me directions based on street names and landmarks – enough that I felt confident I could find it.

As we left the pub to set out on foot, John said, "You know, Trina, Sherlock was right. This has been easy. Why did you ask him for help instead of trying to find your husband on your own?"

I was going to have to 'fess up. "I meant what I said about not taking Jake back unless he was willing to make some changes," I began, trying hard to win John's approval before I disappointed him. "But I was sort of holding out hope…."

"For your relationship? What does that have to do with getting Sherlock to help you?"

"Since he hadn't picked up any of his stuff, I thought maybe something had happened to him, and maybe that was why he hadn't come back. If something serious had happened to him, I might Sherlock's help. Of course it would have made more sense for me to look on my own first, but this way, I could hold onto my fantasy for just a little while."

John looked at the ground, his mouth a tight line, but he said nothing.

We arrived at the flat in silence, and I rang the bell. I was surprised at the woman who answered. She was no one special. I would have felt better if she had been gorgeous, but she was no more attractive than I was. I swallowed my pride and asked for Jake. She walked away without a word, leaving the door open.

Jake came, and I felt tears well up in my eyes as I realized I might be ending things right here and now. He was wearing ill-fitting clothes that I'd never seen before, something he must have borrowed to get him by until he got around to picking up his stuff from our house.

"Why did you come here, Trina?" His voice was softer than it usually was, almost as if fate was conspiring to make this as hard on me as possible.

What was I going to say? I hadn't really thought of how to begin. "I… I'm not happy with where we left things the other night."

"Well? What did you expect?"

That was more like the Jake I'd known for the past couple of years. Now things would get easier. I felt John's silent presence behind me. Although I knew he'd been disappointed in the way I was clinging to Jake, I also knew that he was still my friend, and that made me feel safer.

"I need some closure, Jake. What are your plans?"

"I really don't have any, Trina. Why? Do you want to know if or when I'm coming back? I don't know myself. I might go home tomorrow to stay for a while, or I might decide to get my stuff and stay here. I haven't decided yet."

"That's the problem," I said. "You're stringing me along, and I won't accept that any longer. I still love you, but I can't allow you to continue to treat me my like I'm nothing to you. You can come back now, if you're willing to work on our marriage together. Otherwise,…" I faltered, but again I thought of John behind me and went on, "otherwise, I don't want you back at all. You can't just waltz in and out of our marriage as you please."

Once again, I was treated to a flicker of surprise running across Jake's face, before he hardened it into a cold mask.

"I'm happy with the way things are, Trina. I don't want to change. I told you before, and I meant it: I don't love you anymore. I see no reason to work on our marriage."

"So, I guess this is it," I said, my voice choking as the tears rose to my eyes.

"I guess this is," he said and closed the door.

###

I don't remember much of our walk back to my car, but John had his arm around me, and I cried the whole way. I think he said something about being proud of me for standing up for myself, something about how everything would be alright, but I really don't remember much of what he said. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I'd given Jake an ultimatum and now my marriage, which I'd tried so hard to save, was over. Somehow, I found myself in the passenger seat with John in the driver's seat, but he didn't start the car. He let me cry a while longer, then gently reached out and took one of my hands. It tingled at his touch.

"Trina," he said, "you were a good wife to Jake. You really tried to make your marriage work, and I admire you for that. I'm sorry that it had to end this way, but I truly believe you did the right thing by forcing him to make a choice to commit to your marriage or get out."

"Thank you," I sniffed.

"I know a solicitor who can draw up divorce papers for you," he continued. "He owes Sherlock a favor, so I think I can persuade him to help you at no charge." I stopped him there.

"You're right, John. I know you're right. My marriage is truly over. But I can't initiate a divorce yet. I'm sorry. I just can't."

He looked at me long and hard, and then sighed. "You've been married a while, I know, and I suppose it's hard for you to let go after all you've put into this. Just let me know when you're ready, and I'll take you to see the solicitor."

"I will," I promised.


	6. Chapter 6

John called me the next day to tell me they weren't actively working on a case at the moment. "Do you want to come over anyway?" he asked. "I thought maybe you'd want to get out of the house for a while."

I did want to, badly, but I didn't want to wear out my welcome. I told him that the past few days had been emotionally exhausting for me, and I thought I'd just relax at home for the day. He accepted my excuse and told me he'd call the next day.

I lazed around the house for most of the day, breaking virtually all of John's rules for self-care. I saw no one. I half-hoped Jake would come by to get his stuff. Even though I knew it was over, it was hard for me to let go. I read something light and fluffy and watched mindless television and gorged on peanut butter sandwiches and ice cream. At the end of the day, I took a hot bath. Using a wash cloth, I symbolically cleansed myself of Jake, reciting as I cleaned each part of my body, "Jake is in the past. I will let go now and start afresh." But I didn't feel any better.

The next day, John called to ask me to join them on a case, and while I was away, Jake came by and collected his clothing. He must have watched the house to see when I was gone. I felt a twinge of sadness at missing him, but I was surprised to find that I no longer wanted to cry. Was I really moving on so soon?

Days went by, and I began to develop a routine. After my breakfast and run and shower, I'd show up at 221B unbidden. If there was a case, I'd work hard at it until John told me I needed to stop and go to bed. If there wasn't a case, I'd hang around anyway, helping John with the groceries or cleaning or whatever else needed doing. Sherlock and John never questioned this arrangement. They seemed to know I needed it. Sometimes John had to go work at the surgery, and then I would go for long runs rather than stay cooped up in the flat with Sherlock. I hated being alone with him; I was too afraid of what he might say. Sherlock never mentioned this, either. He was oddly quiet, almost respectfully so. John took to escorting me home at night so that I wouldn't have to go home to an empty house all by myself, although I'd done so many a time before I met him. He'd watch me go in and turn on the light, and then he'd hail a cab and return to his flat. We often had lunch or dinner, or sometimes both, together. He insisted on paying. I objected at first, but he told me sternly that the arrangement made sense, since I couldn't count on Jake's financial support any longer – the one thing I could count on from him after Samuel died – and I certainly couldn't live on my salary alone, while he had no worries about money between his military pension, his job at the surgery, and the work he did with Sherlock. He told me to consider it a pay rise, since it was unlikely that Sherlock would approve of him actually paying me more; Sherlock still bristled at paying me at all. So I gave up and let him treat me.

And then one day, when he took me home, there was a light on in my house. He pulled out his gun. I so rarely saw him use it that I forgot he had one on him. "Let me go in first," he said.

"It could be Jake," I said. "He still has a key."

"Better safe than sorry," he replied.

I unlocked the door and stood back. John called out, "Who's there?"

"Who are you?" Jake called down from upstairs. As his footsteps approached, John slipped the gun back into its hiding place with Jake none the wiser for his close encounter. "Oh," he said, as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Isn't he the man who was with you when you saw me at Liz's house? Who is he anyway, your boyfriend?"

"He's a colleague," I snapped.

"Whatever," Jake said. "I'm just grabbing some more of my stuff. I'm sorry to disturb you. Give me half an hour, and I should be out of your hair."

Half an hour was longer than I wanted to put up with him, and John seemed to read my mind. "Why don't you come back to the flat with me?" he murmured. "You can stay there tonight."

Jake leered. "A colleague, huh? You read me the riot act for being unfaithful to you, but all the while you've been playing the same game."

John punched him in the face. I was so shocked, I had to grab the doorframe. Jake was shocked, too, "What the hell?!" he bellowed. John just turned around, grabbed my arm, and practically dragged me to the car. Jake didn't follow; I was thankful he was not much of a fighter.

We rounded a corner before he said anything. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was wrong, but I just can't stand that guy."

I smiled. "John."

"Yes?"

"I think I'm ready to meet with the solicitor."

He glanced over and smiled at me. "First thing tomorrow," he promised. "Tonight, you'll sleep in my bed, and I'll take the couch. It makes more sense, since you'd only by disturbing Sherlock if you slept downstairs. And tomorrow, we'll get those papers drawn up."


	7. Chapter 7

Even then, I wasn't completely over Jake. I found myself hoping that he'd contest the divorce, but he didn't. He even cheerfully helped me put the house up for sale. It was quick and easy, and I was a bit stunned that 10 years of marriage were dissolved so quickly. When the house sold, John helped me move into a flat near 221B. Jake took a little of our stuff, but I had to get rid of a lot, and John helped with that, too.

I continued my routine with John and Sherlock with a few additions. I found myself picking up more and more of Sherlock's techniques, much as John had. Like John, I would never be anywhere near as good as Sherlock, but I found I could be more and more helpful, beyond just blogging or sometimes acting as the errand girl I had promised to be when I first met Sherlock. Sherlock never commented on my help, but John assured me appreciated it.

John still refused to let me go along with Sherlock when he was positive the situation would be dangerous. The one time I protested, he pointed out that he had been a soldier, and I simply did not have the experience that he had. He did, however, start teaching me how to use a gun, training me on a muzzle-loading pistol. With two former employers as character witnesses and John's assertion that I needed the gun for work, I soon found myself in possession of a license to carry the muzzleloader. I think Inspector Lestrade and Mycroft may have pulled a few strings on my behalf

John was always very kind to me, but that was it. After losing my husband's love, it hurt doubly that John didn't seem to return my feelings, but I kept hoping that, with time, I'd come to think of him as just a good friend. In the meantime, I joined a running club and began training for a marathon. I wanted to have something separate from John and Sherlock. Even if John returned my feelings, my failed marriage had taught me one thing about relationships: it's a good thing to retain some friends and interests of your own. Sometimes I'd join a couple of women from the running club for a movie. Once one of the men asked me out to dinner. I was flattered, and I said, "Yes," but my heart wasn't in it. That was our only date.

After a long wait, I was able to see the counsellor at the surgery. By that time, I was much happier than I had been the day I first met John, so we only met a few times before she suggested I try going off the antidepressant. I did and found that I still happy, so we ended our sessions soon after that. I never once mentioned my feelings for John during my counselling sessions. I didn't want to complicate things by telling my counsellor I had a crush on her colleague.

###

Months passed, and I began to actually hope that perhaps John felt for me the way I felt for him. John had retained his habit of walking me to my door at night, but he began to linger longer when we said goodnight. I'd always been very sensitive to his touch, but now he seemed almost to be looking for excuses to touch me, placing his hand on my back and leaning over me if I was working on my laptop, or gently touching the top of my hand to get my attention, and then maintaining the contact a little longer than he would have when I first knew him. I kept telling myself not to get my hopes up. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on my part. But my heart wouldn't listen to reason.

Then one day, when he walked me to my flat, he stopped me outside the door.

"Trina," he said... and then he placed both hands on the wall behind me, leaned in and kissed me. My knees actually buckled a little. He grabbed me to hold me up, and then laughed.

"Sherlock was right. Of course," he said.

"Did he _tell _you?" I asked, angry at Sherlock for betraying me to John, even if the result was delicious.

"Well, I _am_ his friend," he said. "And, actually, Trina, you should know that he waited until he knew I felt the same way about you before he said anything to me. He really does like you, you know, even if he doesn't show it."

"So what exactly did he tell you?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

"His exact words? They were something like, 'John, you're in love, so why don't you just go ahead and kiss her. I guarantee her knees will buckle.'" John rendered a fairly good imitation of Sherlock's voice, and I giggled.

"Did he really say that?" I asked.

"Honestly. Cross my heart!"

"Wow," I said and leaned back against the wall, stunned by everything.

"Well, I couldn't ask for a much better reaction than you've given me," he said with a smile, "but let's try it again."

This time I was ready.


End file.
